Lost
by MissMazzie
Summary: This is from the Show Me series with three separate endings written by Pamala, MissMazzie and SnowWhite22. This is one concluding chapter: After saying goodbye to Linc, Michael faces his own demons where Sara is concerned. (Now that the other site is back up, I was able to recover and re-post what was once lost. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like I can link individual chapters.)


Note: This is part of the **Show Me** series with three different endings written by three authors: **Pamala** , **MissMazzie** and **SnowWhite22** , all originally written back in 2006. Chapters are:

Chapter 1: **Show Me** ( **Pamala** )

Chapter 2: **Found** ( **MissMazzie** )

Chapter 3: **Walk Away** ( **Pamala** )

Conclusion A: **Impossible** ( **Pamala** )

Conclusion B: **Lost** ( **MissMazzie** )

Conclusion C: **Cold** ( **SnowWhite22** \- no longer archived)

 **Lost**

All I have to do is walk through the door. I stand there, one foot in front of the other, poised to turn the handle, and I'm helpless to tempt myself, to tempt fate. This need to go to her, the need _for_ her is consuming. I know it will prove to be my undoing.

In these months of running, I never once allowed myself to consciously think about how this would actually go. After every dream, after every night's unrest, Lincoln refused my every attempt. But he finally let go. Something had changed.

That dream.

That dream changed everything. The plan. The path. And Linc is gone, not so much by choice but by inevitability, leaving me to outrun fate on my own.

My hand still does not turn the handle. I raise the other hand to brace myself. A deep sigh escapes my chest as I rest my forehead against the door.

I'm not prepared for it.

The knob turns in my hand as if on its own. I'm surprised to find it's unlocked. The door quickly opens away from me. She is there on the other side and I am shocked. It is the first time I really _see_ her, unencumbered by Fox River.

Without the weight of the door supporting me, I'm off balance, my knees are weak. I falter slightly, catching myself with both hands against the doorframe. Her eyes are wide and her mouth falls open as I stumble, falling a few steps closer to her. She is filled with apprehension. I think she is more shocked than afraid.

Our eyes lock. Silence. She is ready to go out for the evening—purse in hand, smooth emerald satin dress highlighting the red in her hair and the deep bronze flecks in her eyes, and black strap stilettos that reveal her toes, wrap around her bare ankles, and put her almost eye-to-eye with me. I remember her quick wit and her challenging words that leveled me every step of the way at Fox River. She does not know what I forfeited to be here, yet she threatens all I have left—my breath, my heart, and with them, I fear, my hope. With the power to level me once again, she stands before me, formidable.

And I am more afraid than shocked.

I grab her wrists before she can escape with everything. It is intimate, feeling the warmth of her skin and the flutter of her pulse, her heart, against my fingers. By the look in her eye, it's too intimate. But atonement is nothing if not personal.

It is simple logic. To her, I am a wanted felon, convicted of armed robbery, a liar, a manipulator; she is my adjudicator with whom my fate rests. I know in that moment we are sharing the same thought.

 _You are dangerous._

She starts to retreat. I pull her closer, her hands in fists between us. "You _know_ I'm not going to hurt you." I ignore the fact that I already have. Her eyes dart between each of mine, then to my mouth. I watch as her lips part and her mouth opens, preparing her objection.

She gasps as I silence her with my thumbs against her lips, moving to cup her head to keep her from relinquishing my eyes. She grasps my wrists, holding on more than trying to pull away. I feel her shudder beneath my touch. And I sense that she is more concerned about her heart than any physical threat I—a criminal—might otherwise pose.

I seem to know her protests before she can give them her voice. But the tension steals my breath, quells my speech, and I can utter only a short reproof.

"No…" _I'm not what you believe me to be_.

I will her to know the unspoken words. I need her to know them. She blinks heavily, exerting herself to hold back the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes.

Her hands slide over mine as I stroke either cheek by her ears with my thumbs, her fingers lace with mine. I know she is trying to let go. With rounded shoulders, I pull her closer to me, huddle over her, use my stature and the mutual charge between us to subdue all but one of the emotions ravaging her. Her head is back, still cupped in my hands. Toe to toe, we straddle the threshold, balancing over a tenuous line between her life and mine. I know it is only here we can coexist—fall to one side or the other and one of us is lost.

I see the question form in her eyes. But I want her to feel, not think. I take her mouth with mine. The spark between us causes her to cry out, the sound muffled against my lips. But her touch is searing and it sends white heat through my body. I am forced to pull away. I rest my forehead against hers. Her questions still linger. I feel it.

"No…" _It wasn't all a lie._

She closes her eyes for a moment and pulls in a deep and quaking breath as if she is gathering strength before the final rally. When she returns to me, she is poker-faced, cold, and it penetrates my being.

My eyes drop to her mouth as she speaks, taking back for herself when she believes I have stolen. "Trust, Michael." Her tone is accusatory. "I can't trust you." She licks her lips and they glisten, red, like fresh blood.

A tear falls.

 _Oh, God._ The riot. The flower. My brother. My wife. The escape. The sacrifices. The keys. The kiss. The lies. I suddenly realize she knows both too much about me, yet not nearly enough.

"I know, Michael. I know about your LLI. I know you're a rescuer… a savior. Overly empathetic. And I know that makes you motivated by guilt." _Guilt._ She enunciates that word like a harsh expletive.

"No!" _It's not like that. Not with you._

"I'll never know… I'll never know if it's me you need or relief… redemption from your guilt. I can't trust you…. I don't trust you… I never will." _Trust._

I am undone.

My mind reels. My body grows heavy. Her hands still on mine, her fingers laced between mine, I withdraw my hands from her, not touching, but unable to completely pull away. With a sudden rush of nausea, I feel weak, my knees straining to keep me upright. I grab at her wrists for support, but it is too late. I fall to my knees before her, the weight of me shifting back on my heels. With her eyes looking down upon me, I know this is a judgment, a sentence of the most ruthless kind—without mercy at all.

I realize mercy was never knowing; hell is knowing for certain.

I close my eyes and brace myself against the doorframe and rest my forehead against the door. I have arrived at this moment of truth. Judgment day.

All I have to do is walk through the door. My hand on the doorknob, poised to open to this fate I can't outrun. But the knob turns in my hand as if on its own. I'm surprised to find it's unlocked. The door pushes in against me. Stunned, I stumble back into the room under the weight of the opening door.

"Michael? You didn't leave?" I hear relief in my brother's voice as his arms pull me into an embrace. "Thank God! You're still here."

And I am lost.

~finis~


End file.
